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[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]We seek vengeance, we seek justice! We seek to unleash our wrath on the living world, to remind them that the dead live again! We seek glory, to remain immortal in songs of fear and terror! We seek freedom, we seek deliverance, we seek to die, this time for real![/color][/font]

[color=#000000;][color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Our universe is in ruins. We have burnt it, burnt it to the ground with our own hubris and foolishness, caused chaos and war, destruction and wrath. Our cities have been razed to the ground, our lands turned to dust, our dreams lost in the wind and the darkness. The last remains of civilization remain locked in an eternal struggle with this dark fate.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Our universe is dead. All is dead. We are dead. The darkness has engulfed our lands, the lands we died to protect. We died courageous: we met our death smiling and brave, with our king at our head, as the Makuta slit our throats and pushed our bodies off the cliffs of Destral. But even after death...[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]We are alive, barely. A small pocket of Matoran, Toa and Skakdi refugees fled to the abandoned remains of the Makuta fortress of Destral. We came here, thinking this would be a suitable location to withstand the storms of fate. We tried many places before: the Southern Continent, from whence the rabid bandit gangs that would kill and and devour any living thing that could still be eaten chased us, and Daxia, where the swamp devoured the earth, and even looked on the ruins of once-glorious Artakha before coming dangerously close to being devoured by Crystal Serpents now with no master to control them. We dared not go to the southern islands, of whom now only a few atolls remained as the protodermis ocean devoured them... we dared not go north, where only chaos reigned. At Destral, we foolishly thought we found refuge...[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Even after death, our thirst for vengeance is strong. Once, our king Radamir the Blessed, the greatest Toa to walk this earth, led us to Destral to challenge the rule of the Makuta. Radamir took us across the sea to the seat of that savage race and laid siege to the beaches of this god-forsaken island. We burnt their watchtowers and fought them for justice and honor, freedom and liberty.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Brotherhood of Makuta's war upon the rest of the world was a devastating catastrophe. It left civilization in ruins and set loose such evil that it destroyed their war machine just as much as it destroyed the rest of the world, forcing them back into Destral as the world collapsed in a series of both natural and unnatural catastrophes. We had no idea what forced them out, caused their deaths, but we felt glad once we reached these shores, convinced that we were finally safe.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]We fought in the name of vengeance for the ones we loved. The Toa Code no longer mattered: we killed in the name of our king and in the name of those we loved. But in the end... we lost. We fought bravely: we fought all the way up to the highest towers, took down many famous Makuta: Krika, Chirox, Gorast, Antroz all died by our blades. However, ultimately it did not matter. Radamir was wounded in the assault on Mutran's quarters, and the Makuta took this opportunity to counterattack and push us back to the gates. Our king fell into the hands of the enemy. Our men, hard as they tried not to be, were demoralized. We had nowhere to run besides away, and that was something we would not do. We hopelessly observed as the Brotherhood's counterattacks and sallies made our siege pointless. The Makuta captured those few of us who remained alive and executed us, pushing us off their battlements into the sea of protodermis, Radamir leading us for what we thought was the last time.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]When the first deaths came, when the alarms in our camp went off at night, we realized something was wrong.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]But we live, even after death. We have sought the death of all the malicious and vile Makuta who still lived after our attack, and we have had it. But we still seek our vengeance and our freedom. Darkness rules this world, and we will not rest until we have slipped free of its grasp and broken free into eternity.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]We do not know why these specters hound us. But we are sick and tired of running. We will not run.[/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]We will not hide. We will have justice![/color][/color][/font]

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[color=#000000;][color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]We will not surrender and let death blindly take us. We will live![/color][/color][/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The elders say that it was the failure of the Toa Nuva to raise Mata Nui from his slumber that doomed the universe we dwell in.[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Brotherhood of Makuta, especially its deputy leader Icarax, proved more clever than ever their own overlord Teridax. As the Toa rushed to the swamps of Karda Nui to awaken the Great Spirit, the Makuta opted for a completely unorthodox approach - the destruction of the dome of Karda Nui entirely by making the dome's ceiling collapse upon them, trapping the Toa within, and, judging by their failure to awaken Mata Nui, also killing them. It proved to matter little within a few weeks, however, as Icarax, at the head of a massive army - Teridax himself was nowhere to be found - assaulted the free peoples of the Matoran Universe.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The war lasted a century, with both sides - the Order of Mata Nui, and its allies, and the Brotherhood and their allies - failing to gain any significant victory over the other. The weapons that both sides used grew more and more destructive and caused more and more collateral damage, to society, to civilization, to the world. On the hundred and sixteenth year of this horrible war, Metru Nui lied half-sunken into the Silver Sea, the Southern Continent was a terrifying, lifeless wasteland of ash and smoke to rival even Karzahni, and even the great city of Artahka was razed and transformed into ruin. The Makuta suffered similar losses. Gradually, they simply could not feed their armies trapped in distant realms - for the realms were horrific and desolate - and, leaving them there, they retreated to their fortress in Destral, too weak for any further conquest - not to mention, there no longer was anything left to conquer.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Thousands upon thousands of refugees - hopeless, homeless individuals - wandered the lands, seeking some sort of refuge. This was a moribund existence on a dying world - there were few resources to feed them, and only a few Toa still left to guide them. Slowly, the universe settled into anarchy.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]A hundred years later, three shiploads of refugees landed on an island. An island crowned with a once mighty, now abandoned and derelict, fortress. A sole island, rounded by the vast protodermis ocean. It didn't take long for the refugees to discover that this was the island of Destral, once the home of the Makuta, and the place they had retreated to after their failed conquests.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]It didn't take long for the refugees to discover the source of the Makuta's demise, either. It was not old age that finally claimed them, no. It was their own pride, personified, that finally defeated them.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]It was the Wild Hunt - a host of ghostly Kikanalo-riding warriors, once followers of a mighty king named Radamir who once led them here to Destral to challenge the might of the Makuta, to no avail. Radamir and his kin, however, were not easily defeated, as the Makuta would discover - they returned to life as ghosts, as spectral riders haunting the ruins of Destral. These were not your ordinary visions of the dead; these were actual material creatures, actual people that could, apparently, talk with each other, think, make plans, and most importantly, they could kill you.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The refugees' contact with the Wild Hunt, who, despite the Makuta's deaths, did not seem willing to return to rest, went rather painfully. The Wild Hunt slew a number of refugees and torched their camp; it was only because then a curious little Skakdi, named Turag, discovered that the Wild Hunt feared the most - fire (as it was rather ignorant of them to come and torch the place) that the refugees even survived.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Before long, they found themselves in a lose-lose situation. They could not flee from Destral: having camped within the fortress, they found making their way back to the old dock nigh impossible with the Wild Hunt rampaging 'round the island, and their old boats were now destroyed as well. Fighting the Wild Hunt proved difficult, even though the specters had a paralyzing fear of fire. For every time a specter was slain, they'd return again 24 hours later, upon a cliff that the Wild Hunt named the Sorrowcliff, and again they'd begin their relentless assault, again, again, and again. For the Hunt believed these refugees were merely servants of evil – for that was the only explanation they had for why they had not been put to rest even after their vengeance – and that vengeance they sought.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]There remained no way out for the refugees except to fight. And fight they did.[/font] [/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Long story short, this RPG is set on Destral, where a group of spectral riders called the Wild Hunt are waging an endless, unstoppable war against the living, in this particular case, a group of refugees fleeing a now desolate Matoran Universe. Will you break free of this haunted island, and lead the refugees away from this terrible place? Will you somehow smash the Wild Hunt's curse upon you? Or will you, as a Huntsman, claim your vengeance upon the living world and destroy it, in hopes of your redemption? It's up to you.[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;] [color=#008000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Refugees. The Refugees are exactly that – a ragtag bunch of refugees. They can be of pretty much any origin you can think of (as long as they‘re not members of an outlawed race) and can be as old, pretty, powerful or wise as is reasonable according to the basic rules of the game. How your character joined the particular group of refugees that was heading to Destral is pretty much up to you – these people formed as packs of wandering Matoran, Skakdi, Vortixx, Toa, et caetera, grew and grew until they numbered a few hundred people wandering the Southern and Northern Continents before they came to this island. A few might even have arrived on their own. There are two things they all have in common: they are not undead, and they are enemies of the Wild Hunt (although that’s almost completely unrelated to their own choices). Most of them are settled in the Refugee Camp in the northeast of the island, which functions somewhat like an anarchist commune slash direct democracy – there are no actual leaders mainly due to the refugees’ differences and inability to decide on any, and decisions are made by camp-wide referendum. The refugees do appoint several notable offices – veterans of various wars are generally posted as leaders of military defence groups. When they need food or supplies, the refugees either loot the Destral Fortress or fish – with obscenely long fishing lines – off the cliffs of Destral. Sometimes, the more adventurous among them wander into the lower levels of the fortress dungeons and slay the scores of Rahi that roam them.[/color][/color] [color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Wild Hunt. The Wild Hunt are a vast army of spectral riders – usually riding Kikanalo, that are just as spectral – of various species. Their one major unifying trait is that they are all former members of King Radamir’s army that he led to a hopeless, yet fierce assault upon the Makuta of Destral. Most of the Wild Huntsmen are Toa, but that’s not a rule. The Hunt is typically fiercely loyal to their king – even in this state of undeath, and usually – after a century of such a state – fiercely devoted to the goal of breaking this curse upon them, whatever its source. Radamir, and most of the Hunt, supposes that the curse comes from them having failed to fulfill their destinies – which they see as cleansing Destral, if not the world, of all evil.[/color][/font] [color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Wild Hunt not only launches assaults on the refugees. Due to the refugees’ staunch resistance despite the rather unhealthy way the Hunt hugely outnumbers them, they have moved on from cannon-foddering the battlefield (and returning to life afterward), which has proven ineffective against strategic weapons such as barricades, spike and lava pits, and generally fire, to strategic attacks at key choke points and attempts to force through the refugees’ defensive lines. As a result, they have been forced to occasionally pull back, gather their strength, wait for their fallen fighters to be reborn, and wait for the refugees to accidentally make an opening. For this result, they have established the closest thing they have to a base – they gather at a field before Sorrowcliff, where they have established, around a flat stone named the Altar of the Fallen, a gathering point for the Hunt before they march to war.[/color][/font] [color=#000080;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]A notable feature of the Hunt is their appearance. They all look like normal people, except for one distinguishing feature: their eyes are filled with nothing but a cold blue flame. From one rim to the other, a Huntsman's eyes are bright blue. Their blood is also peculiar: instead of normal red, it is a ghastly, almost transparent blue liquid that is so unthick (compared to actual normal blood) that it seeps through your fingers.[/color][/font][/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Players may find the gameplay specifics of the Huntsmen rather unusual. First of all, communication between the Hunt and the refugees via traditional methods – namely conversation – is entirely frozen. Null. Void. It doesn‘t exist. Anything a Huntsman says will sound, apparently depending on the Huntsman‘s personality, as either a loud screech, a quiet hiss, or some other unintelligible sound to any common refugee. Moreover, no Huntsman can die – their unachieved destiny effectively bars their door to the afterlife, and unless said destiny – which Radamir, King of the Hunt, assumes is the wiping of all evil from the island – is achieved, the Wild Hunt will not have their rest. The specters can be slain – to provide brief respite for the refugees. However, this merely means that they will be reborn in a location called Sorrowcliff (further info in the Locations section) – from whereupon they will again begin their quest for vengeance. Thirdly, the Wild Hunt fears fire. Huntsmen can suppress this fear – this is less a rule than a guideline. Think of it this way: fire is something the Hunt wants to avoid, and the last thing it will do is intentionally come into contact with it – but that does not in any way mean that you should have your Huntsman immediately die upon such contact. It’s more a pathological fear than an actual susceptibility. (We will be expecting good RPing from you people. Don’t have your Huntsman as a tough macho specter guy who ain’t fearin’ no fire – I do not approve of hipstering, except when it’s my fellow GMs doing the hipstering.) Fourthly – Huntsmen do not feel pain (broken hearts and shattered dreams don’t count) and therefore attacks that are based on causing them pain rather than damage are pretty much doomed to fail. Stunning them is also impossible. They can’t go unconscious, either. Kill them or they’ll kill you. (And even if you DO kill them, there’s a distinct possibility they will kill you either way.)[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Last of all, the Wild Hunt cannot use their elemental powers. Elemental powers appear to have been inextricably linked with the biologies of their original bodies, rendering them impossible to use in the afterlife.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]UPDATE: Going to elaborate on a couple of things I forgot, neglected, or didn't think of but was later reminded of. Huntsmen are killed rather like normal people. They bleed, and if they bleed too much, they will die. If you pierce them through the heart, they die.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Once they die, they vanish into thin air. The next day (in-game) goes with your character being just sort of out of the game, and then he reappears once 24 in-game hours (not "real life" 24 hours) pass.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]APPENDIX TO THE UPDATE: If you people find it difficult to play with having to go twenty-four in-game hours with your character wandering the paths of nonexistence, I'll probably make it less. We'll see how stuff works out.[/font] [/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]There are none.[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Yes. You heard that right.[/font][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]There are no NPCs. Well, nominally. Just so we're clear: I mean important, staff-controlled characters, not NPCs in general. [/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Staff characters will be posted in the profile topic, and will be essentially treated as ordinary characters – at least on paper. They will only be played by their players and will be only as strong as any other characters. There is one exception – Radamir, the King of the Wild Hunt, who I will play, is pretty ###### invincible for any starting character, but that’s just so I have a potent tool to keep rulebreakers in line. Not to mention, it gives something for you people to strive for. Play well, play cleverly, and you might just become more powerful than him. If I feel like it.[/font] [/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The old fortress on Destral has effectively become a frontline for the Hunt and the refugees. Because the only way from the southern to the northeastern courtyards (where the refugee camp lies) is via the fortress’ hallways, the refugees have mostly adopted tactics of barricading shorter hallways, littering longer ones with traps, and firing endlessly on the enemy as they made their way through, rather like a tower defense game.[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Throne Room[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Throne Room, the heart of Destral, is a place none save maybe the King of the Hunt dare tread. First of all because it now lies pretty much empty, thus rendering it useless for scavengers – and then secondly because both the refugees and the Hunt share a myth that the darkness of Destral’s past - that they both understand as more an abstract, theoretical concept than a physical threat, hence why people who go in and out are not under any actual threat – still lies within. It’s a cold place – a long hall with just one entrance, where at one end lies an old throne – now slashed in two by a tact sword movement usually attributed to Radamir the Blessed. Nothing else remains in the Throne Room – the tables have been carried away to use for barricades by the refugees, and the masks that once hanged on the walls were taken and reused.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Dungeons[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The ancient dungeons of the Makuta are another mostly avoided location, except for more major and larger ones that are often also used as a battlefield. Both the Hunt and the refugees have not as of yet properly examined the deepest levels of the dungeons, and monsters beyond imagination are said to lurk within. Well, that, or they’re just called by their usual name that is rather within imagination: Rahkshi. Their Kraata now lacking even a set of masters, they’ve retreated far from daylight, deep into the bowels of Destral. Similar fates have occurred to other Rahi that once served the Makuta.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The higher levels, because they were used as repositories for food and supplies, are often looted by the refugees for useful tools and things.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Laboratory[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]And then there’s Mutran’s old laboratory. It’s also not particularly used to people visiting – but that isn’t because they don’t want to, it’s because they can’t. Everyone who has until now tried to access the laboratory has failed. The door is equipped with a voice recognition system and the need to enter a password of all things – and a lock that seems rather uninviting to any attempts to pick it. To elaborate, around said lock is a… decoration that happens to be shaped in the likeness of a takea shark’s jaws, and there’ve been rumors that some days they seem to just slightly move when foreign fingers are placed just a bit too close.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Pity, too, because anything so protected must be priceless. Even more importantly, potentially useful.[/font] [/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Refugee Camp[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The Refugee Camp is in the northeast of the island, a huge makeshift village where most refugees opt to live, except in cases of misanthropy so extreme they’re willing to risk their lives to stay alone. Most of the makeshift huts they’ve set up are wooden lean-tos built upon foundations of buildings that were once used as barracks to house the thousands of servants the Brotherhood of Makuta had back then. Some more clever refugees have built more acceptable accommodations – accommodations they often share with other refugees, to save space.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Sorrowcliff[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Sorrowcliff has, effectively, become the very pinnacle of the Wild Hunt’s unfortunate pseudo-existence. It is a cliff before the sea, where the followers of Radamir were once led for their execution – and it has become the place where the specters return to upon their deaths. Before Sorrowcliff lies the large, flat, meteoric stone named the Altar of the Dead, used as a marking point for where the Hunt gathers before they ride out to war. Sorrowcliff is the Hunt’s sorrow, the Hunt’s home, and the Hunt’s destiny.[/font] [/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Profiles ought to be posted in the Discussion Topic for approval, whereupon they can be moved to the Profile Topic. Any co-GM (Krayzikk or Tyler) or the head GM (Dovydas) can approve the profiles, but the head GM reserves a right to scream, “WAIT JUST A SEC” if his co-GMs approve a profile but he sees a problem. The head GM also reserves a promise to do this as rarely as you see a donkey passing through Manhattan.[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Below is the profile form. If you deem it necessary, you may add extra points at your leisure.[/font] [/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'courier new', courier, monospace;"]Name: (Meaningless unenforced suggestion no. 47: think of something you haven’t used before.)Gender: (Male, female, or otherwise)Species: (All species are allowed, save Makuta and Botar’s species. Custom species have to be approved by the head GM first.)Faction/Affiliation: (Wild Hunt or Refugee)Element: (if applicable.)Kanohi: (if applicable. Outlawed masks: Olmak, Kraahkan, Avohkii, Mask of Creation, Vahi, and anything else that is unreasonable that I haven’t thought of yet.)Other powers: (if applicable. These are things like Skakdi laser vision. You’re not getting one of these if you haven’t given up your element, your Kanohi, or both)Equipment/Weapons: (Be reasonable, don’t make yourself a walking armory.)Appearance:Personality:Biography:Other:[/color][/font]

1.[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"] A. First of all, no gmodding of any kind. This includes but is not limited to autohitting, insta dodges, and metagaming. The first two should be clear, but in case they are not, I will explain. You cannot automatically hit a PC opponent. Nor can you dodge any attack of their's that you should not be able to. Metagaming is when your characters know something they should not, simply because you, the player, knows it. NOTE: Just because Wild Huntsmen can't die, doesn't mean that you can autohit them.[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]B. I'm adding a subsection of this to directly address anyone thinking of playing as one of the Wild Hunt. You have some advantages, a fair amount of them. But to use one as an example, immunity to pain has disadvantages as well. You can't feel when you're hurt, can't know how badly you're hurt etc. Play in accordance with these inherent disadvantages.[/color][/color][/font][/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]2.Realism. Even in a Bionicle setting, there are ways that you cannot behave. You cannot, for instance, have a Toa of Ice freeze the island and then decide to make some ice sculptures while you're at it. Nor will you take on a swarm of NPCs and win just because you're a PC. You are not superior to everyone else. In fact, you're not superior to anyone at all. All powers have limits, as do your characters. Be wary of breaking them.[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]3.[/color][/font][color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"] Use “IC” and “OOC”. IC stands for “In-Character:, and OOC stands for “Out-of-Character”. For example:IC:The Ko-Toa hurled a globe of ice at his pursuers, hoping to trip them up and make his escape.OOC: Anyone want to give him a hand?[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]4. OOC discussions should be taken to the discussion topic, or PM. No more than one OOC only post will be permitted in a row.[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]5. Respect the staff (Dovydas, Grochi, Krayzikk, KNI). I shouldn't have to make this clear, but this rule is broken an unfortunate number of times. The staff know what they're doing, and their job is to keep an eye on the game. If you feel one is being unfair, try talking to them. If you still feel they are, contact one of the other staff members or the Head GM. We'll sort it out.[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;][font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]6. We would rather not use it, but we have a punishment system in place. First offense is just a warning, and a slap on the wrist. Don't do it again. The second one will be accompanied by another warning, and a significant detriment to your characters occurring in-game. Depending on the severity of your actions, this could be either injury or death. The third offense will, depending on the severity of your offense, be either a temp or permanent ban.[/color][/font]

[color=#000000;] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]From an early age I’ve been taught that there are two things most important in life. One is lasagna. The second is saying “thank you”, when a thank you is necessary. This is one of those times.[/color] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]First, let me thank Krayzikk and Tyler for helping me run this thing. I’d go crazy, probably, if I tried running an RPG on my own. You two are also great friends and I appreciate your support.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Second, thanks be to RAZGRIZ, Legolover-361, Kal Grochi, Kal the Guardian, KNI, Zarayna and the remaining host of people I have had the honor to roleplay and generally socialize with in my time here on BZPower. Also to all the old players of Gangs of Metru Nui, my first and classic TBRPG, which I still remember with a burning passion of mixed rage and affection – which is good, I guess, because that either means my players had a habit of inciting fierce and unadulterated rage or the thing was done very well to incite such feelings in me. Probably both.[/font] [font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Last of all; let me thank the makers of the Witcher computer game, because god knows where I’d be without it.[/font][/font]

(First) GM IC: [Sorrowcliff]Destral is hardly the sort of place where you would opt to live when you had the choice. 1,203 years after the Great Cataclysm, however, the island found itself populated by more people than would be rational at any other given point in time. Of course, they didn't quite have a choice, any of them, living or undead.

The refugees, surprisingly, were living a relatively normal life. Their little community was more or less peaceful - at this early time of day, many of them were still asleep, even if it would be rational to imagine that under the circumstances they lived in they oughtn't have slept at all.

At the time, Destral's central fortress hardly still remained the pinnacle of architectural development that it once was. Once mighty walls now crumbled in disrepair, and the perpetual battle that the living and dead were waging across its halls, pushing each other back and forth relentlessly in an everchanging frontline.

And one lovely summer day, that frontline was slated to again change. The dark skies and dark winds of Destral chilled the air, and early in the morning, Radamir called forth most of his riders to the Altar of the Dead. They had rested from their last raid; a few patrols were left behind in the fortress to guard the line they had last fought at. The line, to be precise, slashed the fortress in half just beyond the entrance to the throne room. Anyone with some knowledge of the hallways would tell you that around the throne room there skirted two halls - not to say there weren't other ways, because that fortress was freaking confusing and there were most definitely other ways through, just longer. One of them was currently buried by rubble - the refugees sure were eager to survive. The other was protected by a few hastily constructed pits filled with spikes and a refugee patrol that hardly slept at all, unlike their kith in the encampment, ready to blow their horns and call back the fighters to the frontline whenever danger would arise.

[color=#daa520;]The gathering of the Wild Hunt took only a brief while, as the Altar of the Dead was soon circled by spectral warriors, more often mounted than not, whose eyes all gleamed with the same blue flame. Radamir stood in the center, before the Altar, tallest among them, though perhaps not fairest, neither in life nor in undeath.[/color]

[color=#0000cd;][font="georgia, serif;"]"My knights," [/color][/font][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(218,165,32);]he spoke quietly, unlike so many ages ago when he would speak clearly and loudly, and all would hear. Now, all still heard, but only because they made the conscious decision, out of respect for him, to do so. This perverse afterlife had taken its toll on all of them. [/color][color=#0000cd;][font="georgia, serif;"]"Today, we ride out. I need not all of you, however, and I need some of you to stay back, and reinforce us or take a different path, depending on what is necessary. Who among you wishes to ride with me?"[/color][/font][/font]

[font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Amadene, standing near her mount third down the ranks of Huntsmen, drew her sword and raised it high. "I shalt follow thou into battle, King Radamir!" she declared, the first among the Hunt to do so.[/color][/font]

[font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]While she was not so keen on the mass killing that she figured would be coming next, Amadene knew she would be able to serve best to her goals by sending any enemies they had fleeing in fear to their defenses. They would be safer that way.[/color][/font]

IC: Thorego | Refugee Camp

While the Hunt assembled their own forces, Thorego was on one of his mad ego trips again - and this time, quite a few people were listening, as he stood high on an empty crate used as a barricade at the second line of defense for the Refugees.

"Friends, refugees - lend me your ears!" he declared, both arms raised high and hands balled into fists, before he brought the left one down and started pointing about with his right. "You... you... all of you! The Hunt have retreated, for now! See them flee with fear from our great power and might, like the cowards they are."

There was a flourish of his cloak as he turned around, drawing his sword and pointing it into the distance - towards where they figured Sorrowcliff was - and declared, "Radamir and his men will be nursing their wounds, but not us! We remain ever vigilant, even in these darkest of times, and we shall have victory for great justice by the end of these days!"

Turning once more, while immolating his sword into a great flame as he looked over the increasing number of those gathering around him, he called out, "They will be coming again, driven by their unholy desires, and we shall drive them back."

He sheathed his sword, which returned to its normal protosteel state. "So be it." he finished.

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

[color=#daa520;]Havoc followed hot on the heels of Amadene's words.[/color]

[color=#daa520;]"I, too, will ride with you, my king," the once-Toa said, not caring whether any decided to listen to his words or not.[/color]

[color=#daa520;]It was, perhaps, not a surprise to many present that he should be one of the first to volunteer; his loyalty to Radamir and the Hunt was zealous, to the point of fanaticism. The Hunt was Havoc's whole life, and his life was, in turn, bound to the Hunt. [/color]

[color=#daa520;]To live is to hunt, and to hunt is to live, he mused raising his own weapon in salute to their leader.[/color]

Valdsar rallied at Amadene's words. he was eager for blood. King Radamir rounded the troops up and raised their spirits.. maybe this will be the day we cleanse this Island and evil...and we can finally rest in peace he thought.

Edited by Strack, Apr 02 2013 - 12:53 PM.

0

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Valdsar rallied at Amadene's words. he was eager for blood. King Radamir rounded the troops up and led them towards the Refugee camp. maybe this will be the day we cleanse this Island and evil...and we can finally rest in peace he thought. he urged his Kikanalo on, readying his war hammer for battle. raising it, he cried out "To Battle!".

OOC: Hey, man, stahp, stahp. I haven't said we're attacking yet. Edit, plox. I want more people to volunteer for the raid.

Editing this post in a moment with a new IC.

[color=#006400;]IC: (Amarthis, Refugee Camp)[/color]

[color=#006400;]"Mata Nui, what is that racket? Thorego, are you getting the men riled up for no reason again?"[/color]

[color=#006400;]The voice that called out from the back was Amarthis, the victim of either much hate or much love from the inhabitants of the refugee encampment, the camp's resident no-nonsensist and resident female Vortixx and target of about precisely one affection that she did not return. Her mannerisms were of such legendary contrast to Thorego's enthusiasm, grandiloquence and general good-natured pompousness that the refugees had invented their own way to define sanity - they defined it as a scale ranging from Thoregism to Amarthism, both of which were considered mental illnesses. The only difference was that Thoregists they actually enjoyed as a laugh. Amarthists were just plain insane.[/color]

[color=#006400;]She was out in full battle armor, apparently ready to assist in the defense today.[/color]

[color=#006400;]"Has the Hunt been sighted yet? Any evidence as to when they're attacking?"[/color]

[color=#000000;]OOC: And just so we're clear, I don't want anyone bunnying Radamir, or anyone else without permission, ever. Pls, guys.[/color] Be good.

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]The speaker was a former Ta-Toa, one who most of the Huntsmen at least knew of. A scarf wrapped 'round her neck, cool blue eyes standing without fail, red and orange armor still glinting in the light although not as much as it had before.[/color][/font][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]This was Takari, one of the eldest of the Hunt, and one to be respected even without her elemental power. Her ball 'n chain hung down the side of the Kikanalo she rode, left hand grasping the handle just enough to keep it in her control. [/color][/font][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Some say she hasn't been the same since being executed, most reply with 'Is anyone the same, really?'.[/color][/font][/font]

IC: Thorego"No sign of the cowardly cadavers for half an hours length." he replied. "They are no doubt scheming to find some new way to bypass our defenses, even now. Radamir and his rampaging raiders never stay quiet for long."

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

Koriaha looked up at the King if the Hunt, pleased with the opportunity to enter battle again and show off his greatness. He stood beside Pukoro, his mount, not having mounted yet, but he could still look any of the other huntsmen in the eye.

"I will ride with you," the giant declared, "until there is nothing left of them but stains of blood and ash upon the cliffs!"

IC (Koranga, Refugee Camp):

Among the crowd who had gathered around Thorego was a rather shabby-looking being in dented red and orange armour. He stood near the back, watching the mad Skakdi with a hungry expression. He didn't believe a word the Skakdi said - the Hunt were sure to be back, and they certainly wouldn't be easy to beat back when they came. He was much more interested in what would happen now that the Vortixx had turned up. Maybe their argument would spark a brawl in the camp?

IC (Wani, Refugee Camp): Wani had also been in the group listening to Thorego, but he wasn't interested in hearing the refugees spat among themselves. He wandered away from them towards the edges of the camp, thinking quietly to himself. The Hunt was stong - stronger than the refugees were. No matter how long and how well they fought, the Hunt would keep returning until there was noone left alive on the island. Thorego might do a good job of keeping the warriors in a positive mindset, but it wasn't a solution to thier problems.

What they needed was some way to communicate with the Hunt and make peace or else find a way to stop them from returning from the dead after each battle. Both were well beyond his skills. He was no warrior or diplomat, and he knew little of the magics that could alter beings so much that they could live on after death or reshape their minds. Even after experiencing huge changes at the hands of Makuta Spiriah and then learning to live with them, he had no knowledge of how the changes had been wrought or if a similar change might be performed on the undead spectres of Detral.

The Makuta had known these things, but they were no more. All that was left of their knowledge was locked up inside a laboratory and guarded by a door with teeth. Even if they had that knowledge, it was doubtful they could use it, but, Wani thought, what if they could? What if whatever was inside that laboratory could help them against the Wild Hunt? That would be world-shaking. That would mean they weren't in a hopeless situation. That would mean they had hope.

Even a little hope, Wani reasoned, was a good enough reason to keep surviving, at least for a few more days. He would go up to the fortress and try his luck at entering Mutran's secret lab. If he couldn't, then he had wasted a morning, but nothing else was lost. If he succeeded, however... that thought kept him occupiedfor a long time as he made his way up to the old fortress.

OOC: Anyone else interested in Mutran's lab feel free to join him on his way up.

IC (Hatann): Hatann sat in his tent on the edge of the camp, one claw curled around the trigger of his zamor launcher. He could hear other refugees moving about outside. It had been some time since the Wild Hunt's last attack, and some of them were getting nervous. When Hatann got nervous or uneasy, he usually shot at something. As a Dark Hunter, there had never been any shortage of things to shoot at, beings to intimidate or objects to steal, so Hatann had kept pretty busy. Here, stuck on Destral, he didn't have much of any of those things. The Wild Hunt feared neither pain nor death, while Hatann very much did, so he couldn't very well go and bully them. Neither could he extort his fellow refugees, because they were his only (flimsy) line of defence against the Hunt - it would be stupid to weaken them. There wasn't even anything to blow up, because the fortress was a crumbling ruin anyway. That left him sitting in the tent, brooding.

He had been in plenty of bad situations before, and always got out of them. This predicament, however, bewildered him. How could he fight an immortal enemy who just came back angrier every time he killed them? That, to Hatann seemed like suicide. He couldn't surrender and offer them his skills, because he had seen what happened when others tried that. He couldn't even flee the island and look for somewhere better because even if there was somewhere else to go (which there wasn't), there were no boats and the oceans were too wide to cross without one. So once again, that left him brooding.

Whichever way he looked at it, it was a hopeless situation. Other refugees seemed happy to fight for as long as they could and then go down in a screaming spray of blood and limbs, but Hatann refused to go that way. He was a survivor, by Mata Nui! A being who fought for his life constantly, refusing to accept defeat or rely on others. It had always been him against the world, and so far he had always won. He would win again. He just needed to find a way.

He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to take action - any action. He got up and ran out of his tent and began sprinting through the camp towards the old Makuta fortress. He went straight through one of the cracks in the ancient foundations that lead him into the basements. He went down and down, hardly noticing where he was going until he finally reached a dark alcove where he sat down panting. Here, far away from the distractions of the camp the terror of the Wild Hunt, he hoped to be able to come up with a plan to escape his situation. Yes, it was dangerous down here, but at least this was a danger he knew and could fight and overcome, unlike the things up above. He shivered, pulled out his lightstone, and began to think.

OOC: Again, any basement-dwellers should feel free to notice/run into him.

IC - Louruon - Refugees CampA dark storm of darkened plasmic energy materialized, and when it finished, a grim spirit was left. Everyone recognized him- not quite alive, not quite dead. He scanned the camp. Both swords were drawn, their tips resting against the ground. All eyes turned to him as he slowly traversed through the camp. Though many looked, only a few people caught sight of him for very long. He would seem to disappear, then reappear. So far, there wasn't any given reason for him to be there, but there he was.Would anyone approach him?OOC: Late night. Bad post. Ehhhh.

There was a slight rustling of the dust and the like before the brown armored Skakdi, Wani, as a much smaller figure of one of the Prime Species suddenly materialized between him, as if he had switched over from invisibility. Probably because he had.

The small being pulled out his flashlight and flashed it briefly in Wani's eyes for a moment whilst giving him a look-over, as if he were a medical professional. Small size... invisibility... flashlight. Yes, Wani would be very familiar with this annoying figure. It was Zartor, one of the most infamous members of the camp; a silver-tongued card shark who was far too smart for anyone else's good (his own was debatable). Nobody really hung out with him; those who did often returned with unrelated injuries or were never seen again. People didn't know much about him - they just knew he was a treasure hunter, and he was always looking for more.

This was going to be good.

"Yes, yes..." Zartor said as he put the flashlight away. "Big, strong, look smart enough... for a Skakdi. You look like you have a lot on your mind, Brown. You know what I bet would relieve that? Breaking into Mutran's laboratory!"

"Or you!" he shouted, pointing at a dark armored figure, Louruon, walking past a good two Bio away and aiming his flashlight (wait, when did he pull that back out?) "Never seen you before, you up for a challenge?"

[color=#000080;][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"]"Shut up over there!" [/color][/font]came a voice some distance off. Zartor simply shined his flashlight in that direction and shouted, "No you shut up!"

OOC: That happened.

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

Edited by Toa Levacius Zehvor, Apr 03 2013 - 12:45 AM.

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

Wani felt like he could have jumped a bio in the air when the scrawny figure jumped out in front of him, and then again when he seemed to articulate exactly what was on his mind. He did wish they would put that flashlight away, though. It reminded him of the scores of vision beams that used to fly around at large gatherings of Skakdi on Zakaz - celebrations, arm wrestling contests and the like. He almost tried to hit it with his own eyebeams.

"Yes - absolutely" he stammered. "I was just on my way there to give it a look. I mean, it's locked up pretty tight isn't it, so I don't expect I'll find much, but it's worth a try isn't it?"

Honestly, he wasn't sure whether having Zartor along for the trip was a good thing or not. He did have a reputation as a trickster, and Wani knew better than to think he could outsmart the Prime if Zartor tried swindle him, but on the other hand, wasn't it always better to have two minds working on a problem? Zartor brough a new set of abilities to the table, something which might be very useful in trying to crack a puzzle that hadn't been meant to be solved. Eventually, he decided that he would be glad for the company - the old fortress was a dangerous place at the best of times, and projected a strong sense of foreboding to anyome who entered its hallways. It would do wonders for his courage to have another being alongside him when navigating theat creepy place.

"I am up for the challenge" he resolved. "And the first thing I'm going to do is disintegrate that fancy shark-toothed doorknob."

Zartor pretended as if the leap hadn't even happening, saying, "Why, the most secured, well locked entryway in the entire fortress - the door to Mutran's laboratory, beyond which we shall find wealth beyond imagining. Or at least a nice bed. Well... okay, a bed. Hopefully."

He muttered the words, "I'm not even sure if Maktua sleeped."

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

[color=#daa520;]Radamir stood tall, unmoving as they bowed before him, and when enough of them had done so, he stretched out his arm, and from somewhere a Kikanalo arrived. He was seated on it a moment later in one swift movement off the ground and atop the mount, and his greatsword he took off his back and into his hands. For a second, all was silent.[/color]

Deep in the bowels of Destral Fortress, above himself, Hatann heard a low rumble come from above. Out in the refugee camp, they heard the alarm set off as ivory horns blew, their sound resounding across the northern half of the island.

[color=#006400;]"Stand tall!" [/color]a voice echoed through the refugee fighters beside the line of defense. Just a few minutes before the Hunt charged in. They came, dragging the bodies of dead Rahkshi from the dungeons of Destral strapped to their mounts; the Rahkshi, however, were not a cosmetic addition by any standard. The Huntsmen halted before the spike traps the refugees had set up for them, and tossed the foul-smelling things on them, disabling them for another minute, by what time a more intrepid Huntsman could've already disabled them permanently. They tossed makeshift platforms on the pits the Refugees, through sweat, blood and tears, dug to halt their advance, and proceeded over them, driving a wedge inside the Refugee ranks.

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Rushing wind and thundering hooves, the noise of the ride surrounded her. She said nothing, but perhaps smiled although no-one could see, and her eyes blazed with energy one would normally find in a being doing something they loved.[/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Which was proper, for this was what she loved to do above all else nowadays, only rivaled by certain uses of her elemental abilities in her past. [/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Her ball 'n chain was whirling 'round her head, moving at tremendous speed. The former Ta-Toa leaped off her mount and rushed forward, letting the weapon slam into the spikes of the Refugee's traps, the material flying in all directions.[/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);][color=rgb(178,34,34);]"Let Mata-Nui judge your souls!" [/color]she yelled, blue eyes flashing, and to the Refugees it sounded like an Ash Bear's roar, giving warning to heed the message it brought, that of their deaths if they did not leave. [/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Even if running would do them no good.[/color][/font]

Valdsar was in a battle rage. not because he was fighting, but because he had been placed at the very back of the troops. the refugees were stronger than last encounter, he hoped. otherwise, he wouldn't be able to use his hammer. riding onward, he finally reached the battle. it seemed like the refugees had gotten stronger since their last encounter. roaring a wordless battle cry, he charged into the fray, hammer coming down hard on those that got in his way. he must have gotten hit, because he felt slightly weaker. he looked down and cursed. his armor had a large gash in it, and a ghostly blood was leaking out of it. stemming the flow with his hand, he pulled out of the ranks. breathing heavily, he got down from his mount and sat down. it wasn't a life-threatening wound, which meant he could still fight.

0

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As the Huntsmen drew out into a wedge, Amadene took to the left side of the defenses, activating her Zatura at the third level of power, causing inexplicable fright within the Refugees and, to a lesser extent, the huntsmen around her. Some of the Refugees shrugged it off, while others took to fleeing. As she was near the front lines, she found herself pressed up from atop her mount by a large Steltian, who she was engaging in blade-on-blade combat. The brute was a decent warrior, but relied too heavily on strength; Amadene was easily able to disarm him. As she moved in for the killing blow, fear overtook him and he fled, to her relief.

IC: Thorego / Destral Fortess

Thorego stood alongside the right side of the front lines, facing off against his own adversaries - two of the huntsmen were attempting to pin him down, to no avail. After a few moments of swordfighting, he allowed himself to unleash his inner flame, causing his entire body to turn into a great figure of elemental flame, which wrapped itself around the one huntsmen and cooked him alive, before Thorego was forced to reform, now with his sword immolated and presented strongly. Fire kept the huntsmen away.

"Send me your leader!" he declared. "Let me face Radamir!"

He doubted it would happen this time either.

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

[color=#006400;]Amarthis, as everyone had by now already noted, was not the type of person to follow or to lead, although she had this thing for believing she was the type of person to lead. Everyone, in return, had this thing for pretending to share her belief.[/color]

[color=#006400;]There were two major reasons. First, she wasn't really that bad of a tactician - pretty good, actually - and second, it was far better to concede some military authority to her than to bother arguing. Arguing with her was simply too exhausting.[/color]

[color=#006400;]Today was no different. Pulling her five or six followers back from the line of fighting, she kept them slightly aback, looking for an opening to use. Thanks to Thorego, such an opening was provided as she, and her soldiers, dashed forward as the Huntsmen reared their mounts aside from Thorego's flaming blade... and landed precisely in the corner of the battle where Valdsar was, standing squarely in the center of the Huntsman formation.[/color]

[color=#006400;]Amarthis wasn't the type of person to demand that he get up off the ground before he faced her. Instead, she jumped towards the sitting Toa, sword drawn and aimed in a slash towards his neck.[/color]

Valdsar didn't see the attack coming and just nearly avoided the blade. still, it cut another gash in his armor, at the shoulder. rolling away and jumping up with difficulty, he brought up his Hammer and smashed. it hit where the attacker had been standing a moment before, but she was fast and got away a lot quicker than he had. weighing his chances of survival against this foe, he realized that it was a losing battle. if he died, he wouldn't get back here in time to keep fighting. instead, he called his Kikanalo, jumped on, and sped out, leaving his foe in the dust. then, looping back, he unleashed his fury. a long, terrifying roar that would leave anyone shaking with fear of retribution from this foe. then, as he was about to leave the battlefield to head to Sorrow Cliff, he realized that it would be better to take down a few of the Refugees and ressurrect there than ride back. charging once more, he leaped off his beast. right before he hit the ground, he slammed his hammer into the ground, creating a force that pushed back the few people around him. "FOR RADAMIR!" he yelled. of course, all the living heard was a rasping scream.

0

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OOC: Strack, pal, I'mma need you to stop bunnying to such extents. I appreciate you doing something as good as making my character escape a blow, but really, you oughtn't do that and let me do that myself. This is also the second time you've bunnied a character, so I'm afraid I'll have to dole out some punishment.

[color=#006400;]IC: (Amarthis, Destral Fortress)[/color]

[color=#006400;]Amarthis used this precise opportunity, dashing forward, using this time that her opponent used up slamming his heavy hammer into the ground to her advantage - within moments, she was there, and although Wild Hunters surrounded her on all fronts, she still had place enough to move to deliver one apt, well placed slash broadly across Valdsar's chest. The Huntsman tossed one final, futile glance at his surroundings and dissipated into the air.[/color]

[color=#006400;]Amarthis, meanwhile, had no time to rest. Hastily blocking a Huntsman's slash with a weapon that looked rather like the Grim Reaper's scythe with her shield, dodging a blow from the left with a mace, she found herself alone and surrounded by enemies.[/color]

[color=#006400;]"Refugees, to me!" she called out, all the while trying to get the Karz out of the situation.[/color]

OOC: Strack, let me elaborate on what exactly will be this punishment I just doled out. Valdsar will reappear at Sorrowcliff, an in-game day later, however, he'll have one peculiar new trait. From now on, he'll have to walk around with a broad scar across his chest. Consequently, he is much more susceptible to damage from now on.

Also, people, let's not make our Huntsmen dying an everyday thing; it will be boring to roleplay if all our characters have to wait for their respawn time, no?

Almost as soon as Amarthis let out her cry, another wave of wildfire swirled around, badly burning a number of the attackers and scaring them off before it reformed into a Skakdi, flaming sword in hand. Thorego leapt forward at the scythe wielding huntsmen, and with a swing of his blade sent the undead warriors arm flying clean off.

Wani looked quizzically at the Prime, almost regretting his decision to go with him. "I'm not looking for wealth or a bed" he said slowly. "I hope to find something that might rescue us from the Wild Hunt."

"To each their own, I suppose. But ask yourself, if something could rescue us from the Wild Hunt, would it be anywhere else? Wealth comes in many forms, my newfound companion. But let us away without delay."

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

IC (Koranga, Battlefield): When the battlehorns sounded, Koranga dashed away from the camp and up the the barricaded hallways as quickly as he could. When battle was joined, there would be injuries, even deaths, and he didn't want to miss a second of it. Yes, such recklessness might also put him on the casualty list, but surely that would be a small price to pay for...

No, he caught himself, I'm not thinking straight. In a few moments, he was back running again, however. His rational mind just couldn't agrue with what his body demanded. He catapulted his tall frame up and over oen of the barricades, only to find himself face to face with a kikanalo rider who was bellowing like a bear. Quickly, he drew his blade and fired off a burst of telekinetic force intended to stop the charging beast in its tracks.

IC (Wani, Outside the Camp): Wani shook his head at Zartor's babble - he didn't have time to understand everything the little trickster said, not now anyway. He did, however, keep picking his way up the slope towards the fortress.

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Takari glances around, looking for the being who's done this. There's a tall one who's hopped the barriers, with armor colored similarly to hers. His blade is extended: perhaps it was him? Never the matter, he shall be the one to receive the blunt force of her anger.[/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(178,34,34);]"You should be grateful you're not facing one of the more vicious members of the Hunt.."[/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(178,34,34);][color=rgb(0,0,0);]The words slip out, for it's true. Not that he knows it, for all he can hear is more growls.[/color][/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(178,34,34);][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Takari lets the handle of the ball 'n chain fall, instead taking out her rope, hook attached. With but a swing or two, it's flying towards Koranga. Whether or not it takes hold, she's going to pull back quickly and with force.[/color][/color][/font]

IC (Koranga, Battlefield): Koranga made a gesture with his sword, and the hook slid away from him, moving to his left and catching on an old wall bracket near his knee. When the huntsman pulled back, the pice of rubble flew out of the barricade and Koranga pointed his sword back towards Takari's undead heart. He added his telekinetic force to the huntsman's pull, making the hook (and attached rubble) was now a speeding projectile flying right back the way it had come.

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Her eyes widen and she leaps to the side, reigning in the rope and allowing it to swing around her, becoming her next makeshift weapon. Scowling, even though it's hidden behind her scarf, Takari's mind flies as she stares down the Refugee. [/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]This is indeed the one who pushed her back earlier, and with those abilities of his it's going to be very tough to use most of her typical weapons. But, perhaps.. [/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Continuing to swing the rope, hook, and rubble combo in one hand she grabs the ball 'n chain with the other and begins to swing it in front of her, creating a double swinging circles of death. [/color][/font]

IC (Koriaha, Batlefield): Koriaha swung onto Pukoro and his mount dashed away, following Ramidir and the other huntsmen as they charged into the fortress' hallways to attack the refugees. His battlecry buzzed like an angry swarm of dust darters as he threw himself at the Refugess, hacking at one of them with his colossal sword.

IC (Koranga, Battlefield): Having escaped being hooked on the wild hunter's rope, Koranga took a moment to breathe in all the pain from his surroundings. None came from the huntsmen, but he felt waves of suffering washing off the refugees. One had just had his hand severed, while another had been impaled through her chest by the charging riders. Their anguish was music to his ears, even though it meant that his comrades were dying. He felt a rush of adrenalin as his muscles swelled and bunched, and joy suffused his brain. It was a thrill like no other, and Koranga craved it. All he wanted was more of that feeling.

Which brought him back to the present. If he didn't do something about those swirling circles of death, he would have a lot more pain to deal with, but he was also unlikly to survive. No amount of euphoria would be worth his death. Crouching on the barricade, he let the strength in his legs build before leaping high into the air, much higher than any unenhanced being could have. He came down on the back of Takari's kikanalo, right behind where she was. He ducked under the rope and caught the chain before yanking hard on it, trying to throw the rider from her mount.

Thorego [color=rgb(218,165,32);]would not have to wait very long for his challenge to met, this time by a mountain of a once-Toa, whose name - Havoc - echoed in the camps of the refugees in equal parts horror and grudging respect. He arrived on foot, having abandoned his Kikanalo before they reached the hall of tricks and traps laid by his enemies, and his axe still hung on his belt.[/color]

[color=rgb(218,165,32);]He didn't attack the Skakdi head on - that would be foolish, and fools could not be allowed to thrive in the Hunt (fools weigh down the strong and the strong must live to hunt) so instead, the once-Toa used the last of his heroic abilities, in the form of his Pakari, and hefted a discarded piece of rubble the size of his own torso. Weighing it in his hands for a few moments, he gauged the angle and power a throw like this would require.[/color]

[color=rgb(218,165,32);]And then Havoc, without a consideration of whether or not his plan would work, tossed the fragment of masonry like a soccer ball over his head, at an angle which would (hypothetically) land it right behind the egotistical Skakdi of fire.[/color]

IC (Taipo, Battlefield): Valdsar's corpse dissolved into steam and began to dissipate, but just before the last wisp of it disappeared from sight, it flared brightly like a torch, and then, strangely, reversed its movements. Rather than boiling away into nothing, it increased in size and fell back into place, reassembling in humanoid form. Taipo stood nearby on his own kikanalo, keeping his fellow huntsman's corpse together with his kanohi tryna. The undead undead toa reached out and made a grab for Amarthis' ankle, trying to pull the Vortixx to the ground.

The rock Havoc tossed landed where it was intended, and Thorego leapt up - alarmed - as the attack struck. He gave a quick glance at Havoc before firing a beam of heat vision, and then exploding once more into a burst of wildfire that reformed a short distance away, once again paralyzing a number of Huntsmen with fear.

IC: Zartor / Refugee Camp

"Indeed." Zartor said, heading off himself. "I imagine that ruckus we're hearing from the battle lines is nothing major; they should be able to handle it. Off we go!"

0

"I disapprove of what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

Those that do have many opinions on it, ranging from not caring about the sensation to loving it to hating the unusual feeling.

Gandor had mixed feelings. None of the above.

As the first tendrils of consciousness reformed, his first thought was frustration. How had he let himself get killed again? What sort of warrior was he? Gandor had to improve.

His next was excitement, as he felt himself regain feeling in his arms and legs- there was the familiar weight of his armor, the Kikanalo between his legs, the enormous broadsword in his right hand. He could control his body now, and it didn’t matter that he had died. He was of the Wild Hunt, and, he would always return to fight for his lord.

The next was frustration again, as the rest of his senses opened up, and the world flooded in. There he was, on Sorrowcliff, facing the altar, and noting that almost no members of the Wild Hunt remained. They were gone, fighting, without him.

Gandor roared in anger and swung his sword viciously at the air. Why did this always happen? Didn’t he deserve something from the Gods? A decent fight? An actual opportune time of rebirth? Gandor did have strong feelings about waiting, and he had been experiencing them far too often.

He gave a slight pressure with his legs and his steed dutifully obeyed, bringing him forwards. Once Gandor had loved being reborn. Now he was starting to realize how hollow it was.

What was the point of fighting for justice if dying for your cause did nothing?

He growled. Gandor needed a good fight to take his mind off his predicament.

Woken by the shouts and sounds of battle, Zaak rushed out of his tent and towards the battle, arriving there in seconds. He deftly parried an attempted slash from one of the Wild Hunt, and knocked him off his Kikanalo with a shield slam. Zaak finished him off quickly, thinking that that had been one of the grunts.

After a few more minutes of fighting, Zaak spotted a huge, black and dark red armored figure slashing at refugees with a colossal sword. Zaak uttered a wordless battle cry and fought his way over to him, with fury in his eyes. He swung his sword at the rider's Kikanalo's back left leg, hoping to take it out of the fight.

OOC: Just in case you didn't notice, that is [color=rgb(40,40,40);font-family:helvetica, arial, sans-serif;]Koriaha.[/color]

IC (Wani, Fortress): Eventually, Wani reached the fortress and entered its abandoned hallways. The sounds of battle were getting louder away to the south, but he tried not to think about that. Mutran's lab was at the northern edge of the fortress, near enough to the refugees' camp. With a bit of luck, they wouldn't have to go anywhere near the fighting and nobody else would notice them. He entered the first of the broken-down hallways and headed west, praying that his courage would hold.

IC (Koriaha, Battle): Koriaha noticed the puny figure running at him long before the toa arrived. He disengaged from his last opponent and moved to meet the challenge. The toa tried swinging his sword at Pukoro's leg, but Koriaha reached down to meet the blow with his own sword. The two clashed in mid air with a sound of metal on rock, one that was eerily similar to the noise of the Dust Darters swarms of Koriaha's homeland.

The blades had hardly begun to separate when Koriaha employed his telekinetic abilities. He made to roughly lift the toa up into the air in front of him and then dug his heels into his mount. The kikanalo roared, blasting at the refugee with force enough to shake the walls.

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]She gasps as she's pulled downwards, stumbling as the Refugee hanks on her ball 'n chain. Seeking to stay upright, she lets the weapon fall, spinning 'round to face the being and sending the rope, hook, and rubble combo at his rather large body, making quite the target. [/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(178,34,34);]"You have skill, that I will admit. Still, you shall not win!"[/color][/font]

[color=#006400;]"Well, well, well. Here's something you don't see every day. A reanimated corpse of an undead creature," the Vortixx muttered as she took to what she saw as the most clever way out of the situation at the time: hacking with her sword at Valdsar's corpse, cleaving its hand right aside with a couple of slashes. She then lunged several more times at the reanimated Huntsman, attempting to chop the pitiful pseudocreature into mincemeat so Taipo's control over it would falter.[/color]